


Hidden Away

by pumpkinpiechey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Also this will Be mostly serious??, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Dimension Travel, Drawing, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Gen, It doesn’t work, Let it be known i think I only watched season one, M/M, Only funny when stiles tries to ease tension, Sketches, derek comes in somewhere, idk what to rate, im trying, itll change maybe, loosely based but very inspired by the forbidden game series, more tags and relationships will come later, of course this is bad for him, scott isnt actually a corpse, stiles finds a sketchbook, the sketchbook make spooky things oooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpiechey/pseuds/pumpkinpiechey
Summary: Stiles finds a cool sketchbook while looking for a birthday present for Scott.  This, of course, brings trouble for everyone.The story where Stiles draws what he dreams, and a magical sketchbook brings his drawings to life.





	Hidden Away

Stiles quickened his pace; he looked back and saw they were still following him. Two absolutely ugly guys, both wearing raggedy flannels and work boots. They looked gross and they looked like they wanted to stir up shit. When he stopped, they stopped. When he sped up, unfortunately so did they. He thought about a few escape plans, but none seemed like they would work in practice. Any running would result in falling, and there were no places to hide except dead end alleys.  


The bookstore wasn't too much further. Why he chose to go to some obscure bookstore in the worst part of town was beyond him, but also not completely out of character. Stiles made finding trouble a hobby that looked easy. Most of the buildings he passed were boarded up shells of past business that couldn't make it in the small town of Beacon Hills. Sure there was a Starbucks, but that was near the school and could support itself from Stiles as a customer alone.  


"I wouldn't even be here if I wasn't such a fantastic best friend," Stiles said loudly. Maybe if he talked to himself long enough, and loud enough, those guys would think he's crazy and back the hell off.  


"Yeah, I'm a great best friend. To Scott. My best friend. The corpse I keep in my basement. I even bring him out on holidays to see the family. Sometimes when I change his clothes I just swap and wear his. The decaying flesh makes a nice cologne. I bet it tastes as good as it smells."  


He kept going on, sneakily (not sneakily) peeping back to see if he scared them away. No such luck. Maybe they had a thing for sentimental, cannibalistic necrophiliacs. Are those the right adjectives? He didn't know. What he did know was his ass was grass if he couldn't find that stupid bookstore soon. Who even liked books? Scott. His best friend. His dumb-ass, barely-worth-this-trip best friend. If Stiles died, he's haunting Scott for the rest of eternity. Any time Scott thought he was getting laid, Stiles was totally going to-  


Holy shit, the bookstore! He took one last look behind him and bolted towards the door. Their footsteps pounded behind him, but he managed to make it inside before tripping, gangly limbs flailing about, over the welcome mat. Thankfully only a handful of books fell, and nothing broke this time. Looking around, he wished he could say the inside was bigger than the outside, but it was cramped worse than his grandma's house on Christmas. Stacks upon stacks of books were everywhere. Antiques and knickknacks were strewn about, something he'd have to remember or he'd break them all. Nothing seemed to be organized in any way that would make sense to him. One pile topped with a weird cat statue contained an old dictionary, the entire works of some no-name poet, and a biology textbook from the 1940s. Why Scott insisted on "vintage" books was beyond him, but Stiles was determined to find some delightful first edition to one of the four classics he could remember the name of. He was also pretty sure that cat statue looked at him.  


Three aisles, two piles, and one quick rest later and he'd got the perfect book in hand. A first edition copy of 1984 by George Orwell. Pretty decent condition too. He hoped it wouldn't make too big of a dent in his wallet and tried to make his way out of the maze of books ( _without knocking over another vase_ ) to check out. He was almost there when something caught his eye. Upon further inspection he saw it was a notebook, a sketchbook actually, in a beautiful golden sleeve.  


"I think I deserve a present for all the hard work I've put in today," Stiles mumbled to himself, and he snatched the book off the shelf. The cashier smiled warmly as he approached. She had to be at least 97 years old given the massive amount of wrinkles and gray head of hair, but she seemed nice. Like a little granny.  


"Just these two," Stiles said. "Please."  


"Alright," she croaked. It sounded like she'd smoked four packs a day, every day, since she had been born. "It'll be five dollars."  


Stiles handed her some cash and quickly made his way out. Something about her voice gave him the heebie-jeebies, like the weird uncle that always talks too much at family reunions.  


He started walking back to his house on the same sidewalk he went to the bookstore on, completely forgetting about the two guys following him earlier. He was rudely reminded of them when he heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming up behind him. Only this time, a lot faster.  


_Oh shit._  


He didn't know whether to run towards home or to the bookstore. Where was that bookstore again? He couldn't remember how far back it was, and they were getting too close for comfort. Should he throw the books at them? He'd never been able to throw or catch or do anything remotely athletic, but this was an emergency and he had to try.  


He lifted the two books out of the bag and into the air. The sketchbook seemed heavier than he thought, and he leaned his body back to throw-  


They stopped. They looked at the book with an expression he couldn't identify. Confusion? What else would it have been? He wasn't the scariest looking guy in town. Maybe his earlier ramblings finally clicked in their heads and they thought he was crazy. Whatever it was, they were running off in the opposite direction and he let his arms down.  


"Jesus Christ," he huffed. He put the books away. That was not how he wanted his night to go. He continued on home, still looking back, and picked up his pace even though they were nowhere to be seen. At least he'll have his sketchbook to practice in when he goes to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters will be short buuuuut probably pretty fast. 
> 
> Also I have no idea what Im doing
> 
> Also I barely proofread
> 
>  Also ignore the price of a first edition 1984 like I did lmao
> 
> It's fine.


End file.
